Kadaj Grows Up
by purefoysgirl
Summary: Sub-story to SINS--Vincent helps Kadaj grow up. No porn, my bad. But hopefully the plot will satisfy.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a sub-story to SINS—if you haven't read it yet, you may want to, otherwise please be my guest! As a quick and dirty explanation: In an attempt to help Kadaj find a means to grow up, Reno called in a favor to Vincent Valentine and sent Kadaj off with him. They were gone for over a year, and this is what happened._

* * *

Vincent didn't stop until he realized that Kadaj was no longer keeping pace with him.

Slowing his trot to a standstill, he turned to look behind him, silently watching the boy stagger up and collapse at his feet. Those jade eyes glared up at him from beneath a spill of silver hair, annoyed and ready to murder, that little pink mouth parted as he gasped for breath.

"If you need to rest, tell me," Vincent shortly said, irritated at this sudden kink in his plans—he hadn't exactly counted on being slowed down by a boy, but Reno's offer had been too good to refuse and his business simply couldn't wait.

Kadaj scowled at him but remained silent, something Vincent could get used to. He'd been mildly concerned that this boy, so close to Yuffie in age, would be similar to her in annoying habits—mainly, talking nonstop. Much to his relief, Kadaj didn't seem too interested in conversation…but, then, how to find out what was going on if he never spoke?

"Your _souba_," he said, deciding to indulge his curiosity and, perhaps, put the boy at ease. He leaned against the nearest drought-blasted boulder and crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his face tucked behind the collar of his mantle. "I imagine you know what it's worth?"

Kadaj merely touched the hilt, shifting to sit up straight, rapidly regaining his breath. Ah…to be young.

"You must know of the _Masamune_," Vincent said, his voice low. He moved to crouch next to Kadaj, running clawed fingers down the sheathed length of the twin-bladed katana. "Sephiroth's ultimate weapon. No one knows how he got it, there's legend that it came to him of its own accord—she is an ancient weapon, the _Masamune_."

Kadaj shied away from him, clearly uneasy, though not specifically of Vincent.

Ignoring his reaction, Vincent slid the blades free and stood, lifting them to the clear moonlight and admiring their sheen. If anything, at least Kadaj knew enough of weapons to keep his in good condition.

"How…" the boy asked, hesitant to show any interest. Vincent pretended that he didn't hear the uncertainty, his curiosity roused once more at how the child he'd seen so many months ago could be the child before him. Such a difference, such a _change_. Not all love was good, Vincent knew—some was more poison to the soul than anything…

"How did you know that's the _Masamune_?" Kadaj asked, taking a sip of water from the canteen slung at his side.

Vincent felt himself smile and allowed it, knowing the boy couldn't see. He tipped the blades down, the light glinting from metal.

"I would be twice the fool not to know her when I see her," he murmured. "She has a soul of her own…and a piece of Sephiroth's spirit as well. It is _this_ that he calls on when he manifests—he conjures her from this relic, this _remnant_."

He slashed the blades a few times, testing the perfect balance, and then replaced it smoothly in its sheath with a soft sigh, saying, "I should like to meet the one with the power to forge her anew."

Kadaj looked uncomfortable again, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows lowered in a frown.

Vincent regarded him, straightening once more to gaze thoughtfully down at the top of his silver head.

"With a weapon such as that, you are dangerous," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "I've seen what you are capable of, I've seen your handiwork up close—while you are with me, Kadaj, you are mine."

The boy flinched, his body drawing in on itself.

"You are _my _weapon," Vincent went on. "When you lift the _souba_, you do so because I tell you to, and when I tell you to drop it, you _obey_."

That head snapped up, pretty little face set in a rebellious sulk, green eyes angry.

"When I tell you to let it go, you let it go," Vincent reiterated, calmly holding that angry glare until those eyes broke contact, confused and uneasy again. He crossed his arms over his chest, wondering how much loyalty he could expect from this child. He knew of the resurrection, knew that this boy had undergone an experience that had changed him—in some ways for the better, in some ways for the worse. "Will you let it go when I tell you?"

There was a long, defiant silence and then a low, abrupt, "_Yes_."

"And why will you do this?" Vincent pressed, watching his subtle reactions.

Kadaj shifted a little, and when he spoke there was a surprising amount of both venom and frustration in his voice.

"Because you are stronger than me." Again those eyes lifted, mutinous and hurt. "Because I don't have a choice."

"There is always a choice," Vincent graciously allowed, gesturing a little with his clawed left hand. "You just may not like the alternative."

He held out that hand to help Kadaj to his feet but the child refused, clambering upright under his own power.

So. Was it the monster in Vincent that he feared?

"I don't like people touching me anymore," Kadaj said, his first, spontaneous volunteering of information. He dusted off the seat of his pants, shivering a little in the cool night air. He didn't look at Vincent. He didn't _know_ Vincent. "When I let someone touch me, they hurt me."

Vincent said nothing, knowing that Kadaj spoke of deeper things. His broken heart bled like a wound, so profusely Vincent could almost _taste_ the blood. Any animal driven to exhaustion and pain would do the same to protect itself, driving away even comfort in the confused and desperate _need_ to defend its safety.

'_What on earth have you done, Cloud? And how could you do it to one so _young?'

"Don't let them touch you—don't let anyone touch you…even me," Vincent softly told him, respecting his right to lick his wounds in peace. "_Especially _not me…"

The boy looked at him, puzzlement and wary alarm in his eyes. What did it mean? That Vincent wouldn't care to hurt him? That he'd best not expect kindness or compassion? That weakness would be exploited? Though he'd been cleansed of so much, Kadaj felt the return of old, bestial instincts—suspicion and caution, a wildness that kept others at bay, a soul and heart that trusted _no one_, _nothing_.

He wanted to ask questions but he kept them to himself.

Crimson eyes gazed at him steadily, as if reading the very thoughts from his head. Kadaj took a steadying breath and forced himself to clear everything from his mind, to find again that blank, encompassing _nothingness_ that had once been his madness and his curse. Surely to admit weakness to this creature would earn him a quick and inglorious death. And what benefit was there to reaching out? He'd opened himself to Cloud, he'd come back from the dead for Cloud, who had loved him…who _had_ loved him—and if someone who had loved him could do such damage, how much worse could a stranger do? He had no reason and no right to expect mercy from Vincent, and merely had Reno's trust in the man to fall back on.

Licking his lips a little, Kadaj felt himself close up, draw in. In a soft, low voice he told Vincent what he wanted to hear.

"I won't."


	2. Chapter 2

Boots crunched on broken glass and rubble, sending skittering dust-balls up in their wake. The walk was slow, steady, methodical, and behind that set of boots came another just as slowly and easily as the first.

"Kadaj," Vincent said, turning back to look at the boy who'd been a ghost at his back for some time now. The same little ghost who had become more and more silently agitated the closer they'd gotten to Vincent's destination. "Do you know this place?"

Jade-colored Sephiroth eyes flicked around the ruined, crumbled remains of the cave, blinking slowly, calmly. Where before there may have been a violent reaction, a recoil and possibly even a loud denial—now there was calm silence. This lithe and lovely little creature had, bit by bit, assumed Vincent's air of detached indifference. Though it was just something Kadaj put on like clothing, Vincent knew that soon it would become habit, and from habit become a part of him.

"We escaped this place," he said—and that, too, had changed, the softness of his voice reconditioning itself into a low, husky purr. Or perhaps it was just his age, a time when such things changed without warning.

Once again Vincent felt an unusual concern about placing this child in his care. It was eerie to see his movements and manner so mimicked, but Reno had known that Kadaj was simply a mirror that reflected those around him, and he'd done what he could to provide the child with the best example when he'd struck his deal with the devil.

Kadaj drifted to the back of the cave where the darkness was impenetrable, even for Vincent. The smudge of white skin suddenly vanished, and Vincent stirred himself to go after Kadaj. He didn't so much fear for the little one's safety as he feared losing track of him.

"Kadaj?"

"My brothers and I, we broke out of here when I was…maybe ten years old? I don't know, none of us know how old we are," he said, his voice drifting back from the darkness. "…We don't need to be here. How on earth did you even find this place? Why would you think to come here?"

There was a dangerous edge of trembling emotion there that Vincent hadn't heard for some time. He'd been remarkably patient with Kadaj, at first too mildly surprised by his violent temper to do much of any reacting—but as that temper had been smothered by the adoption of Vincent's mannerisms, the older man had understood that burial was not a cure. Kadaj needed to root it out of him, like a weed.

"Why do you care if we are here?" Vincent inquired, his eyes adjusting to the darkness to see a keen discomfort on Kadaj's hollow face. There was strain there, stress, and hunger had left its mark as well—things that took their toll even on one as resilient as a child.

"Why are you asking me so many questions?" the boy countered, that calm falling over him again, his voice coolly challenging.

Vincent almost smiled. It was an inner amusement that just never seemed to translate to his sculpted features—something that lingered around his crimson eyes, a sign those who knew him looked for to see if he'd made one of his few, odd jokes or sarcastic comments.

"I'm…_curious_."

That alone told Kadaj mountains of information, and the child grew wary, knowing that anything Vincent tended to become _curious_ about was summarily autopsied and completely dissected until everything was known…it was what one did, when one had all of the time in the world.

"Don't be," he snapped, immediately regretting his tone when one raven-colored eyebrow lifted to disappear behind that faded red bandana he wore. Uncomfortable, Kadaj sought refuge in the numb, disassociated coolness he'd been learning from Vincent and murmured, "It doesn't mean anything anyway."

"But this is where it all started," Vincent said, his voice a low purr, his clawed hand gesturing at the barely visible crack in the back wall. He'd come here unknowing that this was where Kadaj and his brothers had come from, though being told was no surprise—ShinRa had secret little outposts all over the world, and finding them was part of what Vincent was about. "This is where you began. Is there nothing of value to be learned here?"

"Nothing worth repeating," Kadaj said, and looked genuinely ill, his little face turning away. "What are you curious about, Vincent? My reactions? I know it can't be what happened itself, that's too tame for you—did you just want to see my face when I look on those horrors? Maybe ponder how I was capable of doing what I did when you see what's left of all those bodies?"

His little head whipped to Vincent and his voice hardened, his eyes flashing even in this darkness, his little body tense.

"So I'm a lab experiment. So I never had a mother. So my brothers are no more related to me by blood than _you_ are. So what?" Kadaj hissed, demanding. "Just because I'm a monster makes it's alright to watch my pain? Is _that_ what I'm finally worth? _Entertainment_?"

The boy turned, his sprung combat boots whispering on the detritus-strewn floor, his hand on the _souba_ to keep it steady. Without another word he strode away from Vincent, who simply watched him go.

Kadaj had hardly said more than a handful of things in the last three weeks that he'd been trailing Vincent like dark guilt. Outside of a few explosive temper-tantrums and sour, animal-like retaliatory remarks, Kadaj had been mostly silent on any subject that got remotely personal. He'd clearly come because he had nothing to stay for, and once more Vincent thought that Reno had done wrong by the boy, sending him along as he did. The child claimed he wanted to grow up and be strong, but he didn't understand strength except that others used it against him. As time passed Vincent began to understand that Kadaj, perhaps, simply had no intentions of returning at all. Knowing Reno as he did, Vincent wanted no part of telling him that Kadaj had died en route. That would only lead to an excess of emotion from the volatile red-head, probably centered somewhere in the rage department.

"Kadaj," he called from the darkness.

The boy hesitated, head twitching a little as if resisting the impulse to look back.

"I'm not _running_," the boy ground out, his voice tight in response to the unspoken accusation.

Vincent waited. He was patient, sometimes to a fault, but Kadaj required all of it and more.

With a sigh Kadaj turned around, standing with his head lowered and his strong little shoulders slumped, the tatters of his clothing giving him a lost, neglected look. Travel had been hard on him, as had Vincent's habits—little food, little water, little rest, clambering over the roughest terrain. He'd gone hollow from the exercise, hardly eating whenever there _was_ food. But it hadn't wasted the inherent beauty of him, a young echo of Sephiroth with slim limbs and a solemn, striking face. Vincent understood how Cloud could have fallen for him, Kadaj was even smaller than his young, confused friend—the first man Vincent had ever been tempted to call _petite_. Compared to Vincent, Kadaj was a little sylph, supple and small.

"Why should I?" he asked, his voice echoing in the darkness. "What good comes of picking at scars, Vincent? What good came of your long, _long_ sleep?"

Vincent stayed silent, not liking the turn of the conversation. If anything, Kadaj knew just how to retaliate.

"_Fine_!" he snapped, striding back into the darkness, his little face set with irritation. "You're a fucking sadist."

There was no arguing that.

Vincent spun around, the edges of his cloak brushing Kadaj's shaking body, and moved fearlessly into the deeper blackness of that crack in the back of the cave.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I hope I don't upset anyone by adding a character from Crisis Core--he's a bit part, nothing to get concerned about. But I thought it might be fun to add him.

* * *

Horrifying didn't begin to cover what was beneath the cliffs—the place where Kadaj and his brothers had come from. Though the boys had broken out some six or so years ago, the way the place was sealed had made mummies of the bodies, and occasional, shifting things still lurked in dark corners even after Vincent got the back-up system running.

It was, in summary, an unholy mess—everything was shattered, as if the force of their anger had instilled an urge to destroy _everything_. The bodies, what parts were left, were scattered and in some cases violently defiled.

Vincent looked steadily at the child hanging behind him. His little chest was rising and falling rapidly, his feline eyes narrowed with pupils constricted to points. There was a taut tension to him that Vincent could feel shivering over his own nerves, disrupting his calm.

"Tell me," he simply said.

Kadaj flinched, his fingers tightening on the _souba_.

His shadow, the thorn in his side, his ghost—one more person Vincent was forced to admit to the inner circle of himself, unwillingly taking the responsibility for his protection. Vincent had always had a violently ignored softness for children, and this one in particular intrigued him.

"I couldn't let them hurt us anymore," the boy said, and there was a hardness there, something aged beyond expectation. Those shoulders tightened, little teeth clenching in a grimace of memory. "They just wouldn't stop…they wouldn't _listen_…and when they hurt us again, I…I just…"

His pretty mouth twisted and he gestured with his free hand, wryly saying, "Well, you can see for yourself."

Kadaj looked around at the destruction with new eyes, his madness gone. _Now_ it was a horror to him, though given the chance he would do it over again. They had deserved everything he and his brothers had done to them—and more.

"Why are we here?" he questioned, not wanting to continue, not wanting anything to do with _any_ of it.

Out of nowhere, Vincent moved smoothly, clawed hand swinging, forcing Kadaj to skitter back in a crouch, glaring. He'd done such a thing often over the weeks of their journey, suddenly engaging Kadaj in a short, furious fight—sometimes to prove a point, sometimes to teach him a lesson, and sometimes to simply distract him.

"You question me," Vincent stated, moving so fast that Kadaj had difficulty turning those vicious hits—_always_ turning them, never taking the offensive. He couldn't bring himself to strike out at Vincent, a weakness he guarded jealously. Though the man was moody and mostly silent, Kadaj still longed for his acceptance, still longed for Vincent to _like_ him instead of merely tolerate him. He was all Kadaj had anymore…

"_Because I _left_ this place for a _reason!" Kadaj hissed, nearly tripping over a body as Vincent advanced, backing him slowly into a shadowy corner. Cursing under his breath, Kadaj blocked and blocked again.

"What does that matter?" Vincent inquired, no more tired by this than by anything. He moved almost languidly—yet so fast those brass claws were a blur.

Kadaj was too slow for the last strike—the claws on Vincent's left hand biting into the flesh of his cheek. Were it not for the man's superb and uncanny control of his own movements, he might've ripped the boy's face off. Instead, the tips of the claws barely dimpled his pale, soft flesh, stopped short of a killing strike.

Kadaj panted, angry at being caught out, angry at being _here_. Angry at Vincent for being stronger and not hesitating to show it, defeating him as easily as he would a child wielding a lollipop.

"You let me touch you," Vincent pointed out—something he'd never forgotten from their first true conversation. He flexed his fingers, letting those claws draw tiny spots of blood, watching Kadaj wince. "I _will_ hurt you, Kadaj. This isn't a game."

Kadaj slapped his hand away, teeth bared, eyes blazing. He wiped the blood off of his cheek, seething with anger.

Vincent gazed back at him, unmoved. Nothing seemed to affect him, nothing seemed to touch him, and Kadaj pulled that knowledge around himself like a cloak. The anger and fear and bitterness dropped from him, lost in that persona he wrapped himself in. He straightened, his cheek burning but no sign of it showing in his eyes.

"Better," Vincent breathed, and turned his back on Kadaj to further explore the room. That he turned his back was, perhaps, the greatest insult—he thought so little of Kadaj that he felt safe enough not being wary of him.

Vincent skimmed through the first room but it had been worked over pretty well after the boys had escaped—though apparently old Mr. ShinRa had felt it was a rural enough place not to bother with razing it. In a world crawling with monsters and maniacs, who would _dare_ go into the back of a dark cave or slip through the crack into this nightmare world?

He hit the door seal and it hissed open, admitting him to a dark corridor honeycombing back into the cliffside. He didn't look back to see if Kadaj trailed him…where else would his shadow be?

It was a benign row of office cubicles, trashed and stripped of whatever information they might have held. A surface of gentility, perhaps a cover of electrical workers in case they were ever stumbled upon. Behind the last cubicle was a door ripped off of its hinges and another stairwell descending into flickering darkness.

The stale, dank stench of caves and rot made him wrinkle his nose, so close to the smell of his basement prison that he very nearly paused. Kadaj shifted at his back and he pressed on. If the boy had lived in these conditions and would follow him back into the heart of his own hell, the least Vincent could do was not shy from it.

The stairs emptied out onto a vast laboratory—reinforced plexi-glass observation rooms, operating rooms, dorms, holding cells. There were even staff barracks…So. The employees lived here. Vincent could almost _taste_ the taint of Hojo.

He made his way to the main office on a platform above the lab area, clearly positioned to keep the scientists safe in the event of a breakout. A rusty splash of flaking crust along the front of the platform's windows testified that positioning had done little to protect them.

Kadaj visibly hung back, waiting in the doorway, facing out while Vincent entered the good-sized space.

There were seven bodies in total just in the room, flung and strewn about, bits and parts of them here and there. The origin of that rusty stain was slumped down over a bank of softly blinking computer panels—the person's head had been crushed against the window. Vincent idly nudged it away, letting the mummified remains fall to the floor in a puff of dust.

He rifled the cabinets and came up with files and data chips—the SOLDIERs who had, most likely, sanitized the place hadn't done a very thorough job of it. Vincent seated himself where that body had been and fed the first chip into its designated slot, watching the computer busily digest it.

While it did so, he flipped open the files and quickly became absorbed in what he found—namely, a history of the creation of what the mad, mad creature Hojo had considered his "grandsons."

How much did Kadaj know? He'd admitted to being an experiment easily enough, but did he _know_? Did he know that Hojo had fathered Sephiroth and, so, was indelibly linked to him? Perhaps madness was a trait passed from father to son, from Hojo to Sephiroth, from Sephiroth to Kadaj…

Vincent glanced at him, his slender little body stubbornly watching their escape route. No doubt this was hard on him, it couldn't have been easy to escape, and must be even worse returning of his own free will. Or, rather, of _Vincent's_ will.

He dropped his eyes to the file again, reading of how Hojo had combined cells taken from the toddler Sephiroth with Jenova cells, growing them in the wombs of prisoners kept in those same observation rooms. The first—simply #1, was born 24 years ago, and #2 was just after. Both women who carried the babies to term were executed. Six years later, according to the minutes of a meeting, Hojo had found some flaw in his young creations and ordered another child created with fresh cells taken from Sephiroth. This time he'd used genetic material taken from Jenova's brain, and a woman who'd been rendered a near vegetable by Mako-exposure and Jenova-cell injections. #3 had been born a mere sixteen years ago, and his birth had killed his mother. Apparently, all of the Jenova cells injected into her had suddenly defected to the baby she carried and, as the cells were the only thing keeping the host body alive, she had died in mid-delivery. None of the women's names were mentioned, and Vincent felt a sickening anger at the resemblance to Lucrecia's own unfortunate experience.

So. The boys hadn't been given names. They'd been assigned numbers. And a careful record of their interactions had been kept on file. Most notably, how the two eldest children had turned feral as little ferrets at the moment the littlest was born—the scientists noting that their young age allowed them to be more susceptible to Jenova's Reunion instincts and that they had somehow been able to sense the presence of the baby.

Not all of it was horrifying. They had been educated to a somewhat ridiculous extent at Hojo's instruction. Everything from martial arts to sniping, politics to battlefield operations, etiquette to terrorism. Special Handlers had been used as go-betweens, and there were vague, clinical references to no few of them being dismissed and summarily shot for getting too familiar with their young charges—though under what circumstances Vincent wouldn't hazard to guess.

"You were born sixteen years ago, July 10th," Vincent said, watching that little back tighten. "Your eldest brother was born twenty-four years ago on January 3rd. Your other brother was born twenty-three years ago on March 25th."

Kadaj said nothing.

Vincent flipped the page.


	4. Chapter 4

The disturbing things started then.

Apparently, Hojo hadn't feared for his littlest creation, vague notes pointing to the doctor's confidence that the baby would grow to become as strong as—if not _stronger_ than—Sephiroth. So when he was weaned from formula and able to walk, he was deposited into the cell with his brothers. The doctor who had overseen this had, apparently, had his own misgivings, and had very nearly pulled the child back out when the other two—one ten at the time, the other nine—began to brawl over him. Endless fighting broke out in a ceaseless cycle of jealousy and sullen anger—something that might have amused Vincent were the situation under lighter circumstances. Still, the doctor was under strict orders to merely observe, and so he did nothing. Eventually, the fighting calmed down and the two became jealously proficient at caring for their youngest brother, going so far as to fight rather determinedly when any of them were separated for tests or lessons.

It was the tests that made Vincent's stomach clench—the children were treated like specimens without feelings or senses. Hojo ordered surgeries to explore their inner anatomy, most of the time without anesthesia to gauge their tolerance for pain. Often-times they were left on the table for hours after having been vivisected, Hojo curious about how long it would take them to heal.

Training, too, was nothing more than brutal abuse that forced the children to learn how to defend themselves viciously, turning them into nothing more than ferociously dangerous animals—so ferocious that at the ages of fifteen, fourteen, and seven even the Handlers couldn't approach them without bits and animal prods. While complacent and even somewhat docile when together, if separated the three became violently aggressive. A note was made that #2, upon seeing the baby and #3 taken away for experiments, actually managed to break down the wall of his containment cell and kill three aides before he could be subdued and subjected to a punishment that all three regularly underwent.

Vincent sighed, pouring through the file to see notes made of the trio's increasing powers, their uncanny control over negative lifestream, and a rising and alarming surge of power in the baby that made Hojo proclaim him a success, even though psychiatric evaluation proved the little boy to be a schizophrenic sociopath with no emotional link to anything except, at rare times, his brothers. This exhibit of coldness made him the unquestioned favorite of the Good Doctor, and because the other two were protective of him to a fault, it explained how he'd come to be the pivotal point of their little threesome. Though many, many instances were recorded of one or the other—or even _both_—of the elder brothers wounding or flat-out _killing_ people to protect the baby, the only time he repaid the favor was in a hastily scribbled notation at the end of the file. When the elder brother was tossed back into their cell with most of his guts falling out, the littlest one had screamed in outrage, lifted his arms, and been engulfed in blue flame—that was as far as the note-taker got. Vincent supposed the more pressing matter of Kadaj bringing the place down around their ears had taken precedence, and the file had been hastily gathered up with the chips and dropped into the cabinet in an abortive attempt to maintain secrecy.

He looked at Kadaj again and tossed the file down.

There was nothing in it that the child didn't know.

Once more trusting that Kadaj could handle anything that came at his back, Vincent touched the desk-inset computer screen with a delicate claw-tip, activating the data chip's contents.

After the first few moments he started to run it in fast-forward, feeling sick at the contents—the three little children brutally beaten, recordings of the surgeries and tests, evaluations by the psychologist, videos of the boys forced to watch violent war-footage and vicious executions to teach them how to _do_ such things. He watched from the birth of the eldest, watched babies undergo injections and tests, watched what should have been happy and exploratory moments of their lives turned to filth and despair. They hadn't been _born_ evil, or even cruel—they'd been _made_ that way. He watched innocence snuffed out of round little faces, watched wariness, fear, and hostility overcome natural playfulness and shy attempts to gain the affections of their Handlers. He watched the two older children cling to one another, the eldest comforting in silence, the other always in tears. They were always kept naked, always kept vulnerable, awakened and attacked in the middle of the night to teach them to be alert. It was horrifying to see.

And Kadaj. Little Kadaj. He'd been given to them barely able to walk, not toilet trained, unable to speak or else unwilling to. Indeed, _none_ of the children spoke unless spoken to, their communication with each other on some silent level of understanding.

It was Kadaj that bothered him most, the chips relaying a life torn to shreds before it even began. Distrust had shaped that soft little face. Pain had etched wariness in round little eyes. Watching his innocence systematically destroyed, watching his personality stripped and replaced with something dangerously psychotic and barely controlled…Vincent forced himself to watch it despite the bile that rose in his throat. Because Kadaj had _lived_ it, and it was the least he could do. Had it been so for Sephiroth? Had Lucrecia's son undergone similar treatment?

The feed hit the last segment, and Vincent sped through the surgery on the slender, desperate eldest brother, the figures skipping and the footage jumping until his boneless body was dumped back into the holding cell. He let it play at normal speed, watching the middle child scoop the eldest up, grim determination on his face as he gently tried to put those dangling intestines back where they belonged. Determination, but not—Vincent sadly noticed—surprise. Kadaj, probably no more than ten years old, watched this with his back to the security camera. When he swung around a sound that could only be described as furious despair had come howling from his mouth.

He heard the boy make a pained sound in the doorway and glanced over to see Kadaj's shoulders hunched, fingers fisted at his ears.

Vincent turned the volume down, and watched as child-Kadaj threw his arms into the air and bright blue flame sprang up to engulf him.

There was an explosion of sorts, a white blur that fuzzed out the cameras. When they came back online the cell was a mess of rubble and all three children were gone. The feed ended abruptly after that.

Curious, Vincent ejected it and tossed it—it was worthless, its purpose having been served. But the cameras had run afterwards, it would seem. Poking carefully at the screen with his clawed index finger—he was still a lefty at everything but firing his gun—he eventually managed to open the remaining video feed trained on the main door.

He watched the last moments of this place in shock. Not because the three brothers had gone on a rampage and brutally murdered every person in the complex—disturbing even moreso because of how _young_ they were, not even because Kadaj summoned Shadow Creepers to help them do their work. No, he stared at the screen in shock because when the three boys made it to the ballast doors, shivering, their naked little bodies coated in blood, it had been opened from _the_ _outside_.

And not only had it been opened from the outside, but all three boys had been snatched up before they could even react—snatched up by a group of people, one of which stared up at the video camera for a long moment.

There was no mistaking that the man was one of Hojo's experiments, though Vincent did not recognize him. Still, he looked at the camera with desperate, mako-filled eyes, a black wing folded behind his left shoulder, his red hair falling in his face in a way eerily similar to Kadaj's. He lifted a rapier and a single slash ended the video feed.

Vincent belatedly heard Kadaj approaching him, drawn by the image. The boy's eyes were pained, feeling something now that he might not have been able to when the actual events had transpired.

His little lips parted and he closed his eyes in pain, whispering a single name as his triangular head dropped.

"_Genesis_."


	5. Chapter 5

Vincent didn't have time to react to the unfamiliar name, he caught movement out of the edge of his eye and shot to his feet.

But he was too slow.

He heard Kadaj make a startled, furious sound, saw him jump forward even as he drew the _souba_, even as Vincent started to turn and felt awful, searing pain in his back.

For a long, breathless moment there was silence. He felt the faint heat of Kadaj at his back, the boy's slender, bony form pressed to him. He felt cold metal buried partially in the meat of muscle just next to his spine—foreign and painful but not mortally deep, though such a wound would not cause him concern. What concerned him was that he was bleeding, that he could feel it running down the metal blade that pierced him, that he could sense it mingling with Kadaj's blood as it ran down to hit that still body.

"No," he whispered, jerking forward, turning to see the child completely impaled by the length of a katana. A headless body was on its knees before Kadaj, the boy himself frozen with the _souba_ lifted in after-strike. There was a scary calm on his face as he lowered the twin blades, his pale face going transparent as he lost blood.

All of this happened in an instant, and Vincent winced to feel his blood—those traitorous little rivulets sliding down that blade—slip into the boy's system and mingle gladly in his veins.

"No!" he whispered again, but the damage was done.

He caught Kadaj as the child slumped, caught him and lowered him to the ground, crimson eyes searching the corners of the room for more hidden enemies.

"Fool!" he snapped, pulling the blade out and flinging it away, yanking apart the tattered remnants of Kadaj's abused shirt to see the ugly, gaping hole pulsing blood. "Why would you jump in front of a blade for me? _Twice_ the fool!"

Kadaj didn't loose that frightening calm, he merely said, "_You're_ needed, Vincent. _Not me_."

"Fool!" he spat again, furious with the child for leaping to protect him—he, who needed no protection from such things as blades and bullets. "Perhaps I should have been more candid on the aspects of my immortality. I can't be _killed_!"

He focused his force and healed the little creature lying so limply against his arm, uncomfortably aware that Kadaj fought it. So. He thought he had no value? He had said as much before, only Vincent had hoped it was a child's despair that would vanish with time. But he knew too well how it felt to be a monster, he should've _known_ that Kadaj would consider himself an expendable sacrifice to protect someone he considered to be _human_, to be _needed_. That Kadaj considered himself more of a monster than Vincent made the man laugh with hollow dismay—and a deep, grudging respect for a boy who would go to such lengths to protect him.

"Idiot," he said, hefting him, skin and bones that he was. He deposited Kadaj in his recently vacated chair, saying with no little aggravation. "You've done it now, Kadaj—I have no idea what my blood will do to you. Don't you know what I am?"

Green eyes looked up at him with confusion and a child's awful, unconditional acceptance—vulnerable now, too weak to hide behind his veneer of reticence. That uncomprehending stare touched Vincent when it shouldn't and he crossed his arms over his chest in unconscious response. Of course, he should have expected this, too. Kadaj had never known Vincent as anything other than what he was. The facets of him that made him a monster in his own eyes were merely a part of him to Kadaj, nothing strange, nothing frightening, nothing _abnormal_. His immortality and darker powers were simply things that constituted a person who had, perhaps, replaced someone Kadaj had never known.

"You're Vincent," Kadaj said, confirming his thoughts, those feline eyes lowering as if he'd done something wrong. "Cloud loves you. Reno respects you. How bad could you possibly be?"

Vincent sighed, countering softly with, "Cloud loves _you_. Reno respects _you_. How bad could _you_ possibly be?"

The boy flinched, sudden and deep pain showing starkly on his pinched little face. In a whisper he said, "No one can love me. No one _ever_ loved me…at least, not for longer than it took to get the sheets warm…"

It was Vincent's turn to flinch, though he hid it in the shadow of his bandana and cloak, turning his head to look down at the cooling body. The head had landed in darkness, a wedge of neck lying in its own separate puddle of gore—separated by the space between the _souba's_ blades. He nudged it with his toe, smelling mako and copper and bodily fluids. It was dressed in leather reminiscent of what Kadaj had been wearing during the days of Reunion.

He glanced back and caught Kadaj looking at the body, seeming almost to grieve.

"Who was this man?"

The boy gave him a guilty look, startled.

"Kadaj," Vincent said, mild warning in his tone. "Tell me what you know."

Kadaj swallowed hard, still pale from blood loss and, probably, from whatever ugly alchemy Vincent's tainted blood was working in him.

"When Genesis came he took us to the Cenobites," the child softly said, looking again at the body. "It's sort of…I hesitate to say it's a religion but they are all priests, of a sort…"

Vincent waited, toe tapping.

"I didn't think they still watched this place."

Well, at least he knew why Kadaj had been so nervously watching the door. Unfortunately, a single second of distraction had allowed the intruder the opportunity he needed, though it escaped Vincent why _he_ would be the target. Perhaps the man remembered Kadaj, or perhaps Vincent had seemed the more immediate threat. He may never know.

"Who was Genesis?" Vincent murmured, bending to rifle the body.

"He said he was a friend of our father's—I think he thought we were…children or something of Sephiroth," Kadaj weakly said. "He spoke of Sephiroth like he was a god. He said he needed us to stop his degeneration, but he needed to get a doctor to help him. He took us to the Cenobites—followers of his, or just allies, maybe. He left and he never came back, I don't know what happened to him. But he told the Cenobites to see that we were given everything we needed to help our 'father' return. They gave me the _souba_, apparently he'd given them the _Masamune _after...after…"

Vincent didn't need him to finish the sentence. The only way this Genesis person would've gotten his hands on _Masamune_ would be when Sephiroth was killed by Cloud, probably just before the three boys broke out of their hell. Vincent knew a search had been made for the weapon at Nibelheim but it had never been found. He'd assumed Hojo's bunch had made off with it, but apparently Genesis had.

"Cenobites," Vincent murmured, pulling out a strange emblem attached to the inner lining of the man's leather coat. He looked at Kadaj and gripped it tightly. Here was something he simply could not resist. A slight smile lifted his full mouth and he whispered, "How _interesting._"


	6. Chapter 6

Kadaj couldn't think of anything he'd rather be doing _less_. He was dead on his feet and hunger had settled to a dull, throbbing pain in his stomach, his parched mouth screaming for water. Still, one foot plodded in front of the other, following in the trailing wake of that red cloak.

His gut hurt him still despite the healing. Vincent had only stopped the bleeding and the more pressing worry of a pierced intestine, he'd left the bulk of actual healing to nature and the boy bore a wound that would scar. It reminded him sadly of Cloud, an angry seam in his stomach, inflamed and sore now.

He rubbed it absently, feeling the scab pull. They'd left the cave immediately and, after no little frustrated searching, Vincent had found the man's concealed trail. Not an easy feat over this blasted and wasted area. Still, Kadaj and his brothers had been taken to the Cenobites by Genesis and those made in his image—they hadn't taken a conventional route on foot so Kadaj couldn't lead the way.

He looked up to be sure that swirling cloak was just ahead of him, and turned his gaze back to his feet. Vincent had cleaned him up at the lab, calling him twice the fool and saying that if he hadn't been moping then he wouldn't have been hurt. That line of insult had stopped abruptly when Kadaj had pointed out that _moping_ was about all Vincent ever did. Still, he'd been able to shuck off what remained of his shirt and pull on another—his supply of clothing was dwindling quick, none of it was meant to undergo the rigors of such hard travel.

Exhausted, Kadaj decided he'd had enough. He'd been following Vincent for a little over a month, enduring his silent moods and his sharp, cutting observations, shadowing him and trying his _best_ to do _something_ right. It seemed he failed the man at every turn, getting nothing more than a cool, disapproving gaze from those dark crimson eyes or, sometimes, a soft snort of disgust that he was slow, that he was weak.

He sat down on the uncomfortable rock, head hanging, elbows braced on his knees.

A moment later Vincent was at his side, silent and dully irritated, his arms crossed over his chest and his head tipped down to look at Kadaj where he sat.

"I hurt," Kadaj said, wincing a little as his gut throbbed. "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

"When you can't even _keep_ up?" Vincent asked, his tone droll.

Kadaj flinched, stung—but it was true. He knew better than to argue, so he stayed silent and seated, rubbing his wound.

"Get up," Vincent told him.

"I _can't_," Kadaj spat.

"You won't," the man clarified.

"I said _I can't_!" Kadaj snapped, glaring up at him.

Vincent nodded his head down the trail behind them and murmured, "Then what are we going to do about those monsters?"

Kadaj whipped his gaze around to see several creatures coming at them fast. He shot to his feet, the _souba_ springing out with a whine of sharp metal through air. Vincent vanished from his side, flitting to meet the monsters half way, Kadaj hurtling after him.

It didn't take long to finish them, the _souba_ and Vincent's hard hits dispatching them in short order. Still, Kadaj was a panting, sweating mess afterwards, weakened by blood loss, his resources drained nearly dry from fighting the pain. Even though he healed much faster than a normal person, the wound had been a terrible one.

He doubled over, hands braced on his knees as his vision swam.

"You lied."

The metal tips of Vincent's boots moved into his line of sight and he flicked his eyes up to see that familiar, tall form standing with arms crossed over his chest.

"You _could_ get up."

Kadaj scowled at him, the world swimming unsteadily.

Vincent watched him in silence for a moment, gauging him, perhaps. With a sigh, the man said, "Come, Kadaj—we'll camp atop those rocks. You're clearly too stubborn to press on tonight."

"I'm _hurt_," Kadaj hissed, teeth clenched, and the pain in his stomach washed fiercely over him again, forcing a strangled groan from his mouth. "Fucking _sadist_—"

Vincent watched him slump to the ground in a boneless puddle that could only mean unconsciousness. Sighing at the effort this boy cost, he bent and scooped him up, carrying him like a child to a somewhat safer area atop the huge boulders nearby. He laid his limp, feverish body down on the stone and shoved his dwindling backpack beneath his head, watching him for a moment to make sure he kept breathing. His small, strained face was too hollow, the cheeks sunken, the eyes rimmed in purple. Perhaps he didn't have the energy or reserves to heal his wound.

Deciding he was safe enough where he was, Vincent leapt silently down from the tall rock and moved swiftly off to find food and water for the boy, once more mildly put out that one child could require so much time and effort.

* * *

Kadaj woke up to the delicious aroma of food, wincing uncomfortably at the hard ridge of the _souba_ under his back. His stomach throbbed when he moved a little, sitting up to see Vincent seated with his back to Kadaj, long legs over the edge of the boulder, looking up at the waning darkness.

"There's food," the man said, though Kadaj had already spotted it. A good-sized clay pot with a cover on it and a wineskin at its side. Country food, though Kadaj had no idea how Vincent came across it.

Ravenous, Kadaj pulled the lid off and lifted the pot to his lips, draining it like a cup, hardly chewing the bits of meat and vegetables in the broth.

"Not too much," Vincent warned, just in time for a cramp to hit Kadaj's stomach.

The boy lowered the pot, wincing as the food hit his hollow belly. Cautious now, he put it aside, feeling a violent need to throw up. It passed after a moment, and Kadaj went for the wineskin, drinking with abandon when he found it to be full of cool water.

The food and water helped, the throb in his wound dying down to a dull ache as his body got the fuel it needed to repair the damage. Sighing, Kadaj dropped back, moving the _souba_ alongside him, pillowing his head on his backpack. Dawn was coming, he could taste its sharp presence in the tang of the air. The air itself tasted familiar, cooler and fresh somehow.

"We're close," he murmured, not even caring if Vincent could hear him.

"I know."

Kadaj almost drifted off, but made himself sit back up and finish the pot of soup. He never knew when there would be time or even _anything_ to eat—it was best to take advantage of it while he could.

Vincent stood, flung that cloak out behind him with all of the graceful flair of an illusionist, and leapt silently down from the boulder.

Kadaj sighed, slung his backpack and the waterskin over his shoulders, and leapt down after him in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning was well on its way to afternoon when Vincent became undeniably aware that they were being trailed. It wasn't monsters—this was stealthy, watchful movement, and he had the uneasy feeling that the attention was focused on the child at his back.

They reached a choke-point in the trail and Vincent smiled grimly, knowing that the move would be made when they were trapped.

"Be ready," he murmured, feeling the boy perk up behind him.

Sure enough, they hit the narrow trail between two cliffs and leather-clad creatures poured from behind and before them.

Silent as ever, Vincent fell to attacking the front, hearing the _souba_ unleash hell behind him.

Kadaj was afraid, though not of anything solid he could put his finger on. He fought against these people who had once harbored him—Cenobites, mako-eyed humans who now wanted nothing more, it seemed, than to kill him. _That_ thought didn't bother him. That they might capture and use Vincent…_that_ bothered him. The man claimed he was immortal—surely that was something the Cenobites would have an interest in.

Fighting furiously and easily, Kadaj dimly realized that most of the Cenobites who were _not _dead had melted out of sight, disappearing into the crevices and shadows and leaving—all except for one who was still swaying before him, his wounded arm dripping blood.

Something dark and dangerous welled up inside Kadaj, something he hadn't felt since he was a child and had first drawn the Shadow Creepers. It was power, pure and heady, and he snarled in feral delight to feel it.

"Kadaj!"

Vincent's voice was low and purring, but even so soft it still cracked like a whip, pausing Kadaj with his _souba_ poised to strike and the killing-joy fierce in him.

"_Kadaj_!"

He twisted, facing that man, teeth bared, hand trembling on the hilt of his katana.

"Let it go."

The order stunned him, staying his trembling urge to destroy the creature slumped on its knees behind him.

Crimson eyes glowed out of the darkness below that scarf, cold and reserved. Vincent came towards him, red cloak flowing, long, graceful limbs moving fluidly. He stopped just before he hit Kadaj's reaction point, aware of the boy's limits.

"Let it go," he whispered, and Kadaj shook a little, torn as that clawed hand lifted.

'_Don't let them touch you—don't let _anyone_ touch you…even me…_Especially_ not me…_'

Kadaj twitched back as that hand came slowly towards him, fingers open, claws wide.

'_I _will_ hurt you, Kadaj—this isn't a game…_'

_Was_ it a game? A test? Kadaj had hidden well the fact that he could never bring himself to harm Vincent—would _this_ be how he found out? Would he realize he could breach the boy's defenses and use that clawed hand to tear his skull apart?

He blocked that slow-moving hand, knowing those claws could shred his flesh with no effort. His resistance was token, his confusion evident, prompting Vincent to whisper again, "Let it go."

Kadaj dropped his hand, drawing in a deep, unsteady breath.

The hand passed his reaction point, brass claws and all, and Kadaj jerked a little in abortive, instinctive response when it settled against his cheek, gloved palm pressing to the softness of his face.

'_What now? Do you kill me for my weakness? Is this another test I've failed?_'

His breath came out in a rush of pent-up fear, his dilated jade eyes searching those shuttered crimson ones for some clue to Vincent's intentions. That the man had never touched him this way before made it even more bewildering, and Kadaj shook with tiny tremors of anxiety and confusion.

"Good," Vincent softly praised, and those eyes changed in such a way that Kadaj knew he was smiling a little. That hand stroked him, gently soothing away the welling darkness. "Good boy."

The approval went straight to that soft, carefully guarded part of him that Cloud had so damaged and the walls cracked, his focused, hard work shattered in so many seconds from this longed-for, unexpected acceptance.

"Good boy," Vincent said again, and a single tear welled up, rolling softly down Kadaj's hollow face. Vincent curled his hand under the boy's chin, the tips of those claws digging slightly into his flesh, and he gave him a soft squeeze. "Let it go."

Kadaj realized he'd been holding his breath and took an unsteady, quivering draw of fresh air, the sound almost a sob, his heart aching, flooding over with emotion.

Vincent let his hand drop, his eyes glowing with approval, his face hidden behind the tall collar of his mantle. Pleased to have been obeyed, he watched the boy struggle to regain his composure and stepped around him to confront the man himself.

"Why were you following us?"

The man looked up at him, mako-eyes glowing, shaking now that he was disarmed and alone.

"I was told to," he answered, eyes flicking to Kadaj. "They said to bring him back."

"Why?"

The man was clearly taken aback by this question, and in a startled voice he answered, "Because the Resurrection can only happen with one of Sephiroth's children."

Vincent cocked his head, the coils of his raven-colored hair falling over one shoulder, covering his crossed arms.

"_Sephiroth's_ child?" he asked. "I want to see whoever ordered this. Tell him that Vincent Valentine requests a meeting."

With a perverse smile lost in the confines of his collar, he added, "As does his _son_."

Kadaj twitched behind him, but shored himself up admirably, managing to look unsurprised.

The man looked from Kadaj to Vincent, sudden doubt flooding his features. There was always the possibility for error, after all—though the twin bladed katana was difficult to mistake.

"I will tell him," he said, pulling himself painfully to his feet, clutching his wounded arm.

Vincent watched him head off, a smirk on his usually emotionless face. He felt Kadaj behind him, cautious now, not sure how to take what Vincent had said. It wasn't entirely implausible—had Hojo not worked his evil, Vincent may very well have children or even _grand_children Kadaj's age. And he was a boy to make any father proud, a phoenix rising from the ashes of torture, horror, and abuse, managing to overcome the spirit of a vicious and insane creature to lead a life that had not been at all kind to him.

Vincent turned to face him, taking in the shaken little face so like Sephiroth's, so moved by doubt and a despairing hope that didn't dare to name itself. He'd had a lot of shocks this last week, had taken a lot of damage to both body and soul—more, perhaps, than he really could be expected to handle.

'_As does his son_.' The words had come out of his mouth so smoothly he might've uttered them every day, and though they'd not surprised him they _had_ rather intrigued him because he wondered how long he'd considered this complex and cast-off little creature in such terms. _Son_—said as a perverse joke, but he didn't regret it, even if Kadaj could do so much better for a mentor and father than a failed Turk who slept in coffins and shrugged off bullets.

"Come, Kadaj," he softly said, aware of his frailty, aware of that trembling edge of fine panic that was a result of too many surprises in too short an amount of time. His pulse kicked against his pale, swan-like neck and he noticed Vincent noticing. That head lowered, ashamed that he couldn't control such a thing, though no one could.

Vincent took the _souba_ from him and wiped its blades before settling it firmly back in its sheath. He patted Kadaj's narrow side and gave him a gentle push up the trail.

The boy took a hesitant, wobbling step, but he moved forward all the same.


	8. Chapter 8

fThey traveled in silence.

And in relative peace—those leather-encased people who Vincent was inclined to believe were some kind of lost soldiers kept their distance. The hurt one had scrambled ahead at such speed that Vincent and Kadaj had quickly lost sight of him, but it was no matter. Vincent's curiosity would wait awhile, and this was shaping up to be most intriguing for the man who found very little about life to be worthwhile.

Kadaj, for his part, stayed utterly still in the kind of stunned, anxious silence one saw in rodents who had suddenly found themselves in the shadow of the raptor. It both amused and saddened the man, whose thoughts tended towards gloom—though not as much with Kadaj around. The boy provided much-needed distraction, the complex enigma of his situation and past being one that Vincent found welcome.

Night came again, the trail falling off into darkness. Kadaj plodded on despite how weary he seemed, his body too frail beneath the scuffed leather of his jacket, his jeans frayed and worn from use. In all he was a shabby little scarecrow, but the look he shot over his shoulder at Vincent proved that there was spirit yet left in him.

"Why would you say that?" he suddenly asked, stopping in the trail.

Vincent stopped as well, crossing his arms over his chest in his usual unwelcoming habit, head lowered and eyes focused as he idly wondered what new outrageous things would come from his little charge. It was disturbing how much he looked forward to Kadaj's snapping-points—the mystery of how his sharp, suspicious little mind worked never failed to captivate him.

As per his usual habit, Kadaj plowed on when it became apparent that Vincent would not answer the question.

"'_As does his _son!'" the boy said, flinging his hands up to the darkening sky and laughing in frustration. "What would…_Vincent_, _why_ would you say such a thing?"

"It…_amused_ me," Vincent said, watching the boy's face register stunned despair and a rapid, quickly hidden disappointment so keen it might've cut right through the cruel metal of the _souba_. He waited for Kadaj to swing away with a disgusted snort before he lowly added, "And because it's _true_."

The boy halted again, shoulders tensing. His head tilted a little, but he didn't turn around.

Vincent rushed him silently, smirking when the boy turned, bearing up against his weight, breaking the force of his strike with crossed forearms, a snarl on his pretty face. Vincent cuffed him twice, lightly, and leapt back from him to leave the child panting and on the defensive. But never attacking. Oh no, he could never drive the boy to attack.

"You turned your back on me," he said, upsetting the rules of the game. Maybe just to confuse him—his bewilderment was endearing to see. "But you stopped me. Doesn't that tell you anything, Kadaj?"

"That I'm twice the fool!" Kadaj spat, laughing mirthlessly, his eyes bright with a sheen of tears that never fell. His head dropped again, hand absently rubbing his belly. "That I'll never be as strong as you."

"Very few of my enemies can stop me, Kadaj," Vincent said.

The boy flinched.

"Am I your enemy, then?" he asked, his voice hard.

"Aren't all sons enemies of their fathers?"

Again that flinch, his features tight and unhappy.

"What is it, Kadaj?" Vincent asked. "Your wound is rotting you from the inside out. Why do you let it hurt you? Why do you let them touch you?"

Clearly struggling with himself, Kadaj managed to bite out, "Because I _need_ other people, Vincent. I can't _be_ alone!"

"Can't or won't?" Vincent asked, and let that one sink in for a moment. "We share blood now, Kadaj. If that doesn't make you the closest thing I have to a son, I'm not sure what would."

That silver head came up in startlement, green eyes huge. Naked emotion played over his hollow face for a moment before it was stifled by his suspicion, by his wariness. Vincent had just warned him not to let anyone touch him—his caution was palpable.

"You're teasing me," he said, his voice sullen and cold.

Vincent cocked his head and murmured, "Perhaps."

Kadaj shook his head, his smile conveying no happiness, no mirth. With a whispered, "Whatever," he swung away and headed up the trail again. Even tired and ragged he moved with an animalian grace, the easy and swaying walk that had led Reno to describe him as "a little rock-star kook."

Vincent let him go, knowing that no harm would come to him. At least now that they'd put some sense into those Cenobites they'd been left alone—still, the roving people alongside of their perception made for a good guard.

He moved fluidly after Kadaj, always keeping that trudging little figure in sight. It wasn't hard, the going was much slower than he was accustomed to, but he doubted the journey would have led him in this direction were it not for his slender shadow.

They pressed on for two more days, moving further and further into the rocky press of the cliffs. It became harder for their "escort" to hide themselves, and eventually they wound up exposing themselves with wary, sidelong glances. Vincent dully ignored them—so long as they didn't touch Kadaj or himself, they could do as they pleased.

The trail led them to a citadel of sorts, a huge place carved into the rock of the mountain. The doors gaped wide, access into torch-lit darkness. What Vincent had so wryly referred to as their "escort" flowed around them and disappeared inside.

"Guess they don't care how I get here, so long as I come," Kadaj murmured, his face blank as he looked into the flickering darkness. There was wariness, a little fear, but mostly just sad resignation. Whatever these people wanted him for, Vincent wasn't sure Kadaj would refuse.

They approached, another leather-clad body moving forward to meet them at the cool, twilit opening. It was the man Kadaj had wounded, though he seemed well enough now.

"The Master will see you," he said, and ignored Vincent's sly smirk. He turned around, his broad back to them, and moved off into the corridor.

Luckily, both Vincent and Kadaj had excellent night vision, but Vincent still led the way—he didn't like making too enticing a dish of Kadaj. Bait was one thing, but sheer stupidity was not something Vincent had any taste for.

The Master was standing behind some sort of map laid out on the floor, he and a few others staring at it in consternation. He was grizzled, white-haired, and lined, but he could've been a twin to the man Vincent had seen rescue the boys on that video feed.

"Little one, welcome home," he said, eyes falling on Kadaj. "Do you remember me?"

Kadaj shook his head, trying to take his cues from Vincent.

"I've aged so much since you were a child," he gruffly said, laughing. He held out his hand and flexed the fingers, sighing, "Degeneration—I won't last much longer."

"Degeneration?" Vincent inquired. "What a strange way to say aging."

The man scowled at him and snapped, "It isn't _aging_, my friend—I'm no older than you look, and far younger than you are."

"I'm no friend of yours, but you may call me Vincent," he offered, not worrying too much about offending. "And you are?"

"You may call me Master," he was told.

"I call no man _master_," Vincent coolly stated.

The man laughed a little and countered with, "Then you may call me nothing at all."

Once more he looked past Vincent at Kadaj, saying, "Come here, child. You've grown so much since I saw you last…some three years, has it been?"

"Three," Kadaj agreed, not getting any closer, noticing with mild alarm that several more leather-clad bodies were drawn to where they were at. He saw the Master make a motion and spun, drawing the _souba_, pressing his back to Vincent's when five of them pressed forward.

In the same instant that Kadaj turned, Vincent flung that red cloak out behind him and it flowed up and around Kadaj, shielding him on both sides, rippling around him like a thing not subject to the laws of physics. As it ever-so-slowly drifted down, he murmured, "No one touches my son."

The men backed off, but not entirely.

"He's rather dangerous when he's riled," Vincent added. "Try not to surprise him."

Again the Master laughed, a phlegmy, choked sound, but readily agreed, saying, "Your _son_ has always been safe in this place, _Vincent_. But…will you be?"

One raven-colored eyebrow arched and Vincent crossed his arms over his chest again, sighing, "We'll see."

Shaking with adrenaline, Kadaj sheathed the _souba_, feeling Vincent's cloak brush his arms and legs as it drifted slowly to the floor. He was uneasy. Not because they had unknown horrors in store for him, for there was no horror he would hide from except for one—Vincent. His concern was wholly for the tall, stern man behind him and what awful things could befall a man who could not die, yet harbored the secret of immortality inside him. Should they but _guess_ he had such gifts…well, the merest imagining of what may happen put Kadaj on edge. He'd lost Mother, he'd lost Sephiroth, he'd lost his brothers, Cloud—there was nothing he'd not sacrificed already, some of them for good. He couldn't bear to lose another, despite Vincent's admonishment to not allow anyone to touch him.

"There are rooms available for you, clothing if you wish, and food," the Master said, and a young boy skittered up to his side, mako-bright eyes glowing. "The boy will show you where."

"You're too kind," Vincent said, his sarcasm not lost on the other.

"Do with it what you will, I've things to tend," he said, and returned to his perusal of the map, the others close beside him.


	9. Chapter 9

Kadaj lay awake in his bed. It wasn't the one he had left so many years ago, but it could've been—all of the rooms were the same in this giant stone fortress, and none of the Cenobites seemed to mind.

He looked at the door, a little worried that something might happen, but Vincent seemed so confident…He knew he could take care of himself, just as Vincent could, but he was understandably nervous, and still had no idea why Vincent would want to come to this place. That he would walk into such danger for mere curiosity's sake was appalling.

Sighing, Kadaj sat up, his loose home-spun pajamas warm from his downy bed. It was the most comfort he'd had in over a month, but he was so accustomed to sleeping in brief snatches on rocky ground that he couldn't seem to unwind.

'_At least I have clothes again_,' he thought, eyeing the fine leather laid out for him. The Cenobites kept their own animals and cured their own skins, and their forge provided the metal while their craftsmen could do everything from fine, small zippers to remaking the _Masamune_ into the _souba_.

They weren't _exactly_ like the clothes he'd last had, but they were similar enough to be both comforting and disturbing. How strong he'd been when he'd donned that uniform, so much stronger than anyone else…

He thought of Cloud, suddenly missing him. Their fight had been stupid, but he still stung from the pain of his serious, solemn lover's actions. That Cloud never wanted to see him again or speak to him again hurt him worse than realizing the somber man only loved Sephiroth. It seemed that so much of his happiness was built on a lie…Vincent was right, he let other people _touch_ him, let other people _hurt_ him. The only way to be strong again was to keep them all out, or only allow other cold people to touch him, ones who wouldn't care enough to bother with hurting him.

People like Vincent.

'_Why did he call me his son_?' he wondered, twisting his blanket in his strong little hands. '_What game is he playing? _Why_ does he tease me_?'

Not for the first time Kadaj admitted that very little answered his questions except for the fact that Vincent was driven by his curiosity—he probably wanted to see Kadaj react, that was all. He knew what hurt the boy the worst, and he had no qualms exploiting Kadaj's weaknesses. Because that was all such things like love were—_weaknesses_.

He would have to turn it off, then. _All_ of it.

He slumped back in bed, stretching out and taking a deep breath. A long time ago he'd learned to disassociate from things that bothered or hurt him—it was what made him so adaptable, what his Handler's had labeled 'sociopathic behavior.'

Vincent had broken some walls down with his touch, which had seemed so sincere—but Kadaj knew better than to trust it. Trusting Vincent was like trusting a starving wolf not to eat you when your back was turned, it was, quite simply, _stupid_. But those walls had been nothing anyway because Kadaj hadn't _wanted_ to shield himself. He _needed_ to feel, even if it was just pain. Because feeling at least made him human, and made him feel close to Cloud. But Cloud was gone now, he wanted nothing more to do with Kadaj or his lunacy or his needy, clinging youth.

'_I won't be like that _ever_ again_,' he swore, feeling that weird calm consume him. This was how it started, that absence of emotion. Without Cloud, what was there worth feeling?

* * *

Vincent looked in on Kadaj before he went wandering, pleased to see that the boy was sound asleep with the _souba_ tucked against his side. There were no locks on these doors, as he expected—but he figured that whatever was going to be done with Kadaj would be enacted once _he_ was out of the way.

Which he had no intentions of happening.

He moved like a shadow around the dark stone fortress, not bothered by the lack of light. The narrow slits that allowed fresh air into the place gave him more than enough moonlight to navigate by.

He made his way back down to that massive entryway, stopping to gaze at the marked and torn map on the floor.

"I would show more caution, were I you."

Vincent finished looking at the map before he turned to face that grizzled and old man who fancied himself _Master_.

"There is very little that instills caution in one such as me," Vincent told him, shrugging a little.

The man smirked a little, and turned away, gesturing for Vincent to follow him.

"I assume you brought our little prince here for a purpose," he said, sitting behind a heavily engraved wooden desk. It was littered with papers and old-fashioned ink-quills, something Vincent found odd.

"I was seized by an unexpected curiosity," Vincent told him, moving to stand before that desk with his arms crossed over his chest. He kept his tone mild, conversational.

The man grunted a little, weary acknowledgment.

"I was merely investigating some leavings of ShinRa when one of your men attacked," Vincent informed him, and added with a careless gesture, "Kadaj, unfortunately, decapitated him."

Sighing a little as if it were of little consequence, he said, "Such is youth, I suppose. _Impulsive_."

"_You_ don't strike me as impulsive," the Master said, regarding him. "What do you want of us, Vincent Valentine?"

"Information, perhaps," Vincent said, moving to lean against the wall. He ruefully thought of Yuffie accusing him of _draping_ against things, but quickly pushed the brat out of his thoughts. "Perhaps nothing."

Shrewd eyes watched him, and the man said, "I wonder how it is that you're so fearless. You seem very young, but I can _feel_ that you are older."

Vincent shrugged again, not answering.

"Genesis," the man said, and laughed harshly. "You've seen that some are SOLDIERs?"

"I assumed as much," Vincent murmured, and lifted a clawed finger to his own crimson eye in indication of the tell-tale mako gleam.

"He went rogue, it's no secret among us, though some were here long before _he_ came," the man told him, looking uneasy. "The Cenobites have always been here, untouched by ShinRa and their mako-taint. We live simply, we live on our own efforts, and we defend our territory with a vengeance. Because we live in such a place that ShinRa never found a need for, they left us alone for the most part."

Vincent waited when the man tapered off, allowing him to gather his thoughts.

"Genesis came here a few years before the great Sephiroth was killed," he went on. "He was…_ill_. He had some SOLDIERs with him, all deserters from the Wutain War. He'd _changed_ some of them somehow, making them over in his image. Many stayed, many more left along with him in search for whatever drove them."

"You stayed?" Vincent asked, his voice low and soft.

The man nodded, saying, "I was the first he made, he left me here in his stead. We all believed then, it was easy to be swayed."

"Believed?" Vincent inquired.

"In Sephiroth. In something _better_ than humanity," the man said. "We hoped the goddess would grant us godhood. Genesis was a SOLDIER 1st Class, an experiment of ShinRa, a copy of an experiment that didn't turn out as planned. He was desperate to stop the degeneration, desperate to become like the great god Sephiroth—"

"He was no god," Vincent cut in.

The man gave him a wry smile and said, "Indeed? Try telling that to a pack of young SOLDIERs fresh from the war, fresh from seeing him on the battlefield like Minerva herself guided his hand—he was better than any god because he was _flesh_. He was _real_, and we all wanted to be great in his image."

He sighed, troubled and weary.

"It was easy to come here and convince the Cenobites that we were their future, that by blending with us they, too, would become beholden to no one, that they, too would become as gods. They taught us their ways, we taught them ours, and no few of them were made over with Genesis' instructions," he said. "We've all stayed here quietly, some leaving when he summoned, others returning with new products of his desperate attempts to gain his dream. When the General was killed he was beside himself, agonizing that he would never have a chance to make up with his childhood friend, that he would never have a chance to be _better_…He brought me the _Masamune_, he ordered me to break her and forge her again into the twin-bladed katana your _son_ now carries. He wanted her safe, he said. Safe and disguised until Sephiroth could return and claim her."

Vincent frowned, realizing the depth of these Cenobites' belief in the mad, cruel General.

"He found out about the boys just a little after the General died and searched relentlessly for them until, one night, he brought them back here," he went on. "He left them in our care and ordered us to train them, to teach them, to instill in them a desire to resurrect his old friend. He returned to find a doctor who could help him exploit the boys' genetic make-up, but the doctor failed him. Something went wrong, but I never knew what. He just…never returned."

There was actual grief there, and Vincent wondered how closely linked this man…this _clone_ was to his original aspect.

"The boys waited three years before the little prince decided one night that he must go. He heard Sephiroth, you see," the Master said, smiling a little at the memory. "He didn't _know_ that he heard Sephiroth, but those of us who had fought with the General recognized the voice that Kadaj complained was in his head, the voice that would sometimes come spilling out of his mouth when he had one of his fits."

He gave Vincent another searching, brooding look and lowly said, "I'm shocked to see him so sane—he never was very stable. Without his brothers, I'm not sure he could've been controlled."

"They died," Vincent said, and left it at that. It was the truth, after all.

"That's unfortunate," the man replied. "It would be much easier if they were alive."

"Easier to do what?" Vincent asked.

The man merely smiled a little, and sighed, "It would be suicide to tell you."

Fair enough.

Vincent pushed away from the wall and headed for the door.

The door, however, was not where he left it.

Annoyed, he turned to say something to the Master.

The man was not where he'd left him, only a single black feather tipped in white floated where he'd been sitting.

Vincent scowled, but that didn't really change the situation.

Moving with movements made sharp from annoyance, he began searching the room for a route of exit.


	10. Chapter 10

Kadaj woke from a nightmare and found the Master in his room.

Not giving way to his trepidation, he sat up and easily laid his hand on the _souba_, not threatening but not taking any chances.

"You hardly need _that_, child," the Master chuckled, lighting a taper to fill the boy's room with soft candlelight. "We would never dream of trying _your_ temper."

Kadaj arched an eyebrow in perfect, unconscious imitation of Vincent, waiting for the man to state his business.

"We have your friend."

Kadaj cocked his head, saying coldly, "I don't have any _friends_."

The man smirked, and amended, "Very well, we have your _father_."

Kadaj laughed, surprised, and sighed, "I hope you have him very well indeed, or I shouldn't like to be _you_ when he gets loose!"

The Master seemed annoyed by his mirth, and scowled at him.

"We've waited a long time for your return, child—either one of you boys, or the great Sephiroth himself," he said, moving closer. "We've done our work here, too. We _know_ what we need to do to stop it, so please, forgive me if I seem eager."

"Eager for what?" Kadaj warily asked, drawing back. He didn't like anyone near him still.

"For your help."

The boy snorted and asked, "What makes you think that I will help _you_? Just because you sheltered me once doesn't mean that I _owe_ you anything—my brothers and I would've been fine on our own."

"The fact that we have Vincent trapped—_that_ is what makes me think you will help me," he said, smirking when the boy stilled, obviously trying to conceal his reaction.

"Vincent can take care of himself," Kadaj said, though he was beginning to worry. Surely these ex-SOLDIERs, these minions of Genesis knew a trick or two when it came to subterfuge. "He doesn't need _anyone's_ help."

"Kadaj, my little prince," the man said, smiling at him. "My little god, I know very well that Vincent is immortal, and I know very well that you love him—please, don't force me to tear him to bits before your eyes…"

Kadaj paled, stomach clenching. Tightly, his teeth clenched, he hissed, "You _lie_!"

"See for yourself," the man offered, gesturing at the door.

Hefting the _souba_, Kadaj stalked out into the hallway, following the man who moved ahead of him.

Sure enough, through a peephole behind a moth-eaten tapestry, Kadaj could see Vincent perched on a wooden desk looking as close to pissed off as he had ever seen. That emotion was showing at all on that deathly pale face immediately made Kadaj afraid.

"How long has he been in there?" he asked, hoping that Vincent had only _just_ gotten trapped and would quickly escape.

"Three hours."

He winced and dropped the tapestry back into place.

"I don't suppose you would tell me how to get him out?" Kadaj slyly asked, ready to run the man through and find _some_ way to free Vincent.

The Master laughed and sighed, "Oh, my little prince, were I such a fool I would have died long ago. The only way to get him out is to do what I ask of you, no fighting and no escaping—on your honor. And don't think to make a quick end of it with the _souba_. My people always watch, and they outnumber you fifty to one. Even a little god such as yourself can't stand against _those_ numbers, Kadaj."

Swallowing, Kadaj tried again, saying, "What do I care what you do to him? It isn't like I mean anything to him or him to me."

"Shall I cut off his finger to find out?" the Master asked, and laughed when Kadaj made a soft, distressed sound. "Come along, Kadaj—it won't hurt after awhile. And you may even live to see your _true_ father Resurrected."

'_Vincent, what should I _do?' he desperately thought. For the first time he had no one to guide him, no one to _take care of_ him. The decision was his and his alone, as were the consequences. They knew of Vincent's immortality. They knew Kadaj would bend. What else could he do? Fight the lot of them and risk being killed, trapping Vincent in that room forever?

"I'll help you," he whispered, resigned to it. "Swear to me that you'll release him. Swear on your honor as a SOLDIER."

Solemnly, the man said, "I swear to you, Kadaj, that as soon as you are safely where we can begin, your friend Vincent Valentine will be released unharmed from that room and set free to do as he wishes."

Blinking rapidly, Kadaj looked back, but the tapestry kept Vincent from his worried, scared jade eyes. Trembling a little, he nodded to the Master and let the man take his slim, strong little arm in his lined, weathered hand.


	11. Chapter 11

Vincent was, to put it mildly, _irritated_. If one were to take a more blunt view, he was _pissed_.

Having stormed the room in as close as he came to a temper, he quickly realized that magic, and not means, had sealed this room. After an hour of searching for seals he found five of them in a pentagram layout that he warily understood to be unbreakable with ordinary means. Another hour of debating this led to some pretty cataclysmic exhaustion of his resources, forcing him to settle on the desk to cool his head. Losing his temper gained him nothing, and the longer he stayed in this room the harder it was to deny that the Cenobites had managed quite cleverly to trap him—he'd made it _so_ easy. But then, Vincent had been caught by his confidence more than once in his life, and his arrogant assumption that these lost SOLDIERs were _beaten_ by their way of life had now cost him time.

He thought of Kadaj, sleeping calmly in his bed. Surely the boy wouldn't fall prey to their designs, he was far too intelligent to be caught unawares and there was hardly anything they could threaten him with. It didn't occur to Vincent to think that he himself might be used as leverage, as he took his immortality for granted and had impressed how indestructible he was on that child.

Kadaj wouldn't be harmed here, surely.

Surely…

He felt it the second that the seals fell away, looking warily towards the now open door.

A Cenobite gestured to him and he walked out with lazy grace as if the whole thing had been nothing more than nominally annoying. Fastening his crimson gaze on his silent escort, Vincent merely followed him to the main entrance, pausing only when they reached the huge doors.

"Go," the Cenobite said, gesturing him out.

"Where is my son?"

"He isn't your concern," was the answer, and once again that gesture towards the door. "_Go_. We give you your freedom, Vincent—don't try the Master's patience."

Vincent smirked a little and whispered, "He isn't _my_ master. Where is Kadaj?"

The Cenobite said nothing.

"Take me to your Master," Vincent demanded, his soft voice ripe with threat.

"He's busy with the Resurrection," the Cenobite snapped.

Like striking lightening, Vincent was on him in a second, snapping his arm back and breaking it with one quick, sure movement. Leaning down into the grimacing face of the Cenobite, he softly purred, "Take me to him _now_."

"I…I _can't_," the man ground out, snarling up at him, his mako-eyes aglow with hatred. "He can't be reached where he is."

"And where is that, exactly?"

The man struggled a little, clearly in pain, but brokenly said, "No one _knows_."

Vincent flung the man away from him and found himself suddenly surrounded by a press of glowing-eyed, angry Cenobites. They formed a tight wall between him and the rest of the room, leaving the door as his only option.

"Don't make us harm you," the man said, straightening with a pained grimace. "We promised the little god that we would not. And even if you are immortal, Vincent, you would sustain grave injury from so many of us."

"_Promised_ him?" Vincent sharply asked. "And just _how_ did you get Kadaj into any sort of _bargaining_ mood, I wonder?"

The man's pained face forced a smile but he gamely answered, "We told him we would torture you. _Slowly_. Go now, there's no place for you here."

Vincent assessed the odds. He'd had worse, but his more pressing issue was finding Kadaj. To think that the boy would use _himself_ to assure Vincent's safety…well, it very nearly made his stomach clench with guilt. He hoped that he could find the boy before anything _truly_ bad happened to him, and decided accordingly.

"Very well," he said, languidly turning his back on them. "What's he to me anyway? _Silly child_…"

He stalked out into the darkness and heard that heavy door swing closed behind him. Leaping lightly to the cliffside, he sprang upwards and out of sight to the top of that stone fortress.

Like a gargoyle, he perched on the lip of a rain channel, closing his eyes and reaching deep into himself for that connection with his blood. Kadaj had it now and, knowing himself well, more of his blood probably ran in Kadaj's veins than the boy's own.

He sighed, searching for any tell-tale glimmer of his own flesh, frowning worriedly when he felt a subtle, faint vibration. Surely, wherever he was, Kadaj was not harmed? Yet it seemed so faint, fading…

"Hang on, Kadaj," Vincent whispered, a low, alien feeling of fear welling up from his gut. "Hang on…"

* * *

"Is he gone?"

Kadaj heard the voice through a haze of pain, the mako-exposure making him sick. He'd been cleaned of his impurities through death—tolerance was not something he had anymore without Mother's cells.

"Yes, Master," another voice answered.

"Did he look as if he would come in search?"

There was a hesitation, and the Master said, "It's fine, he's hardly conscious."

"No, he won't, Master," the voice finally answered. "He said the little god was a silly child, and that he meant nothing."

The Master seemed to think on this, even as Kadaj tried to have faith in Vincent. He tried desperately to convince himself that the other man had only said such on a whim. He struggled to push back the part of himself that always felt rejected, always felt sacrificed—Vincent had called him his _son_, that meant something, didn't it? He tried to trust him tried to have _faith _that Vincent hadn't meant such cruel words. But for now, Vincent was safely away, _that_ was what was important—and soon Kadaj would be back in that pleasant, wonderful place with mother, never to hurt again.

"Double guard," the Master said, not sounding secure. "I don't trust him."

Kadaj pressed against the glass before him, using up the last of his rapidly escaping strength. The pod of stagnant mako they'd put him in was choking the life out of him, but the Master insisted that it was necessary, a step in the path of making Kadaj a god—of making Kadaj _Sephiroth_.

But Vincent was gone. He was safe. Now Kadaj could do for himself what he'd always relied on others to do—save him.

He pressed harder and the glass shattered, spilling him onto the floor in a stench of rotten mako—chemical and sharp. The Master turned at the sound but Kadaj was fast and the Master was degraded; he reached the _souba_ resting against the wall and immediately defended himself against the attacking Cenobites while the Master retreated.

"Don't fight, Kadaj!" the man shouted over the clash of metal and the snarls and grunts of the fight. "You'll only damage _yourself_. For the love of Sephiroth don't _kill_ him!"

"Fine, then!" Kadaj snarled, swinging the _souba_ up in an arc that eviscerated the nearest Cenobite. But his movements were slowing fast, his arms heavy from the weakening effects of the mako. He wasn't a preternatural creature anymore, not infused with alien cells that could process his synapse and increase his speed and precision. Once the first Cenobite landed a lucky hit the rest was just desperation—Kadaj fought on, wounding as he was being wounded, unwilling to subject himself to whatever else they had in mind. He'd rather die on the floor in a puddle of blood and guts than endure another minute so like those he'd lived in the ShinRa labs.

He stumbled and grew clumsy as he bled, as he fought his way down the hallway with the Master following. He charged through the ranks of Cenobites, going deeper into a maze of stone walls lit with torches, leaving drops and spatters behind him. He was panting, light-headed, and somehow deliriously thinking of Cloud.

Cloud. So light, so _pure_ somehow. Cloud, with his beautiful, cat-like face and his full, sad mouth. With those huge, glowing blue eyes that never seemed to lose their shadow, never seemed to smile even when that pink mouth curved ruefully up. Who had suffered through the death of his lover, the death of his best friend, the death of a woman he'd loved. Cloud, who only knew how to give and never understood how to take without guilt, to take freely and enjoy the gift for what it was. His beautiful, haunted Cloud, who'd probably done what he had out of some dreadful sense of guilt where Tifa was concerned. There wasn't a malicious bone in his gorgeous body, not a hint of true cruelty in his reserved and sad demeanor. Cloud, whom he'd loved so well and had left in a fit of pique. His brother, his lover, who admittedly loved him no more…

He didn't made a sound when cold metal impaled him from the back. He didn't cry out when it cut its way up, tearing through organs and bone. He felt the blood pour out of him and sank to his knees, a crimson ribbon falling from his lips, the same color as Vincent's cloak…

"Such a pity," the Master said, and that blade sliced up and out, severing him. "But we can still use you in such a state, my little god."

Kadaj grinned, the blood on his lips and teeth giving him the maniacal look of a rabid beast.

"_I won't help you_," he whispered, and laughed, even as his severed body began to slump, to bow. Laughing again, he sighed, "I died, you see…I don't _have_ Jenova cells anymore, old man…I don't have what you seek…"

"Impossible!" the man hissed, and ran his fingers down Kadaj's wound, snarling when he tasted the blood and found no taint of Jenova in it. In a fury he slung Kadaj's wounded body against the wall, howling.

Kadaj laughed again, the world going dark. It hurt, it hurt badly, but it was just a body—it was _nothing_, _he_ was nothing. The world grew darker, and still, the _pain_!

But as much as it hurt, his last bitter, sad thoughts were only of Cloud—and that was a pain much worse than anything _they_ could do to him.


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn't hard to find a way in.

Vincent followed that vibration down and down—slipping through the cracks in the fortress roof, sliding like a silent shadow down through the rotted wooden beams and down to the dungeon. That required a bit of work, Vincent having to pull away a massive stone block that sealed the entrance. Luckily, he had that superhuman strength on his side and it took him only a matter of moments to displace it.

The deeper he went into that honeycombing labyrinth, the fainter the draw of his blood became.

'_Hang on, Kadaj_,' he silently prayed, putting on speed now, forsaking his pride and his reserve for fear that the boy might beat him at his own game.

But Kadaj already had, it would seem. He ran down the twisting corridors in something closely resembling panic, heart pounding because Kadaj was dying—he could feel it—and Vincent _cared_. Vincent didn't _want_ the boy to die, because Kadaj was the closest thing he had to a child, the closest thing he had to _family_, and Vincent had never thought he would have such again.

The metal tips of his boots clicked loudly in the silence, sparks shooting from the drag of his brass claws against the dark stone walls. He crashed into a room where a broken glass pod had gushed stagnant mako all over the floor, the sharp smell stinging his senses. There were bodies, so many bodies, and _blood_.

He found a trail of the same, bodies and blood leading down into darkness.

'_Don't be his_,' he demanded, pausing to sense a large puddle. But at every splatter, every slippery, cooling pool of it, he could feel his own cells, feel his own _blood_. So much blood, _too_ much blood.

He raced down the hall and found himself in a small chamber streaked with gore. The Master was kneeling, weeping in the corner, a white-tipped black wing drooping from his left shoulder, the feathers falling from it.

"No!" Vincent hissed, seeing Kadaj lying motionless against the wall, a dark smear testament to the fact that he'd been flung there. Dark blood was drying crimson on his pale, white skin. A horrible wound opened him wide, tearing from his navel up through his right shoulder, severing his little body nearly in two. "No!"

He knelt down and scooped him up, searching for breath, searching for _life_. He could faintly sense his blood moving sluggishly through those veins, managing to keep the boy's body alive despite his horrific injury. Slashes and gashes were opened all over his little body, white bone in red flesh, crimson blood drying to black on his translucent skin.

"Hold on, Kadaj," he whispered, putting all of his will into that plea.

The boy's feline eyes moved behind his half-opened lids, but they saw nothing in this world, that gently parted mouth whispering shallow breath that barely stirred.

"I'll fix this," Vincent lowly said, hefting that body and laying it gently on a stone outcrop. "I promise you, Kadaj…"

"Vincent?" the boy croaked, and a smile curved those fine little lips. "I knew you didn't mean it…"

Vincent smiled slightly at Kadaj, gracing him with one that wasn't hidden by his hair or his mantle. It was a soft smile, unused for so long it felt oddly stiff on his face, but it was all he could give…all he could give to a boy who touched him, a boy who couldn't see.

"Stay," he breathed, and used Heal with all of his power, stopping the bleeding, mending the severed veins. It wasn't nearly enough to knit that awful wound, but it would keep him from slipping even further away.

His face grim, Vincent fished inside his cloak and removed a materia that he'd acquired some time ago on his wanders. The person who had entrusted it to him had warned him of its awesome strength, its dangerous influence—_protomateria_, she had called it, and described elemental powers of creation and destruction. The gift had come with the command to use it wisely, use it for the betterment of the world…Vincent didn't know if this was wise or better for the world, but it was all he could do to save the boy that the incorrigible, blackmailing Turk felt so strongly about.

It was all he could do to save the boy who should have been, in some odd way, his son.

Taking it, he pushed it deeply into that awful wound, settling it beneath the exposed gore of the boy's ribcage. It sank of its own accord, finding a place to nest and call home.

Breathing the words like a prayer, he brought that flickering materia to life and watched as it worked through Kadaj's little body.

The planet alone knew what havoc he'd wreaked, but there had been a decision, and Vincent had made it. Perhaps he'd unleashed something like his own demon inside the boy, perhaps he'd made him the God the Cenobites had dreamed of.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he'd saved his only child.


	13. Chapter 13

"He can't come back."

Vincent didn't turn towards the aged man at his back. He could hear him well enough, sense where he was at, and knew he wasn't moving closer.

"You brutalized my son," Vincent murmured. "And for what? To bring back a monster?"

"To bring back a _god_!" the man shouted, anger roughening his voice.

Vincent looked over one shoulder at him, watching him rise, that one drooping, white-tipped wing raining feathers down to the cold stone floor. The Master turned to them, his tear-ravaged face even older now than it had been. He gave Vincent a mirthless smile and said, "All of our efforts…for naught. Why did you not tell us the little prince had been cleansed?"

Vincent blinked, forming his answer carefully. In a neutral, even voice he said, "Was it cleansing then? There is more godhood in this child now than there ever was when Sephiroth used him."

The Master's face contorted with anger and he whipped a long, evil-looking rapier out from under his cloak, holding it unsteadily in Vincent's direction. Panting with emotion, he managed to say, "We will finish this, Vincent Valentine!"

Vincent heard thunderous noise above him and knew that the rest of the Cenobites had come to finish the Master's fight.

"Yes," he evenly said, standing up, having to content himself with Kadaj's condition. "We shall."

He didn't draw his weapon, no—what this man had done to Kadaj had earned no mercy. He used his clawed left hand, blocking and striking at the man who had once been so very strong and agile. He truly was a clone of Genesis, his technique flawless, his timing impeccable. But what was that compared to a father's own fury?

Vincent struck and struck again, feeling his bestial form clawing at him from the inside, wanting to break free—Chaos in all his ugly glory. The man was no match for Vincent's detached fury. He drove him to bay time and again, dancing around the small chamber in a vicious, deadly ballet.

"We would have brought such _glory_ to this world," the Master hissed, leaning in as his sword caught up in Vincent's brass claws.

Vincent smirked, his face hidden behind his mantle, and murmured, "You would have brought nothing but more death."

He flicked his wrist, breaking the sword and plunging his claws into the man's thick neck, severing arteries and veins, nearly decapitating him. It wasn't a pretty death, but neither had Kadaj's been, and the Master was—in Vincent's estimation—getting off pretty easy.

Blood fountained up as those eyes rolled heavenwards, his black wing dipping in final, boneless grace.

"You could have been a creature of beauty," Vincent sadly said, catching one of those feathers in his good hand and tucking it away. "You could have _lived_."

The Master gurgled on his own blood, sinking slowly to his knees. His dimming eyes flicked to Kadaj and he smiled a little, his last words being, "Little god…"

The rumbled of hundreds of feet approaching drew Vincent's reluctant attention. The Master's death fascinated him, being dramatic and harsh all at once, his methods inscrutable and his final words rather an enigma that Vincent would have to ponder.

He started to turn towards the chamber's only entrance, but there was a sudden, fierce flash of energy behind him, so staggering that it blew his cloak in rippling waves up around his body. Turning slightly, Vincent looked where Kadaj had been lying.

It was not _Kadaj_ he saw, nor was it the dreaded Nightmare, Sephiroth, but whatever the reactive nature of that material had combined with Vincent's blood in Kadaj to summon something much stronger than just a boy.

That slender, supple body was on its feet, green eyes blazing with pale light, all trace of wounds and blood gone. There was an otherwordly glow coming off of his milky white skin, some kin of that blue flame Kadaj had always summoned. Power cavorted around him, twirling the strands of his fine silver hair and teasing the remnants of his clothing. The expression on his face was the same blank, impersonal mask of a marble statue, relentless and devoid of mercy. He turned those flashing eyes to Vincent and that full mouth curved into a partial smile.

The Cenobites poured in, hesitating only briefly when they saw Kadaj and the mess of the Master on his knees before Vincent. With ululating cries they rushed forward.

Kadaj lifted one slender, pale hand and there was a low, muffled noise like a sonic boom that pressed painfully against Vincent's eardrums.

The Cenobites still moved forward, but it was as if they were underwater, their movements slowed down to a mere crawl.

"You will _not_," Kadaj whispered, and pressed that hand forward.

A wave crashed through those bodies, crashed through the whole foundation of the fortress, rolling and devouring everything living in its wake. And still, the boy whispered, "All of them…all of them…_every last one_…"

Vincent felt time snap back into place as that wave diminished, moving further from them. His heart was thudding, making him painfully aware of his blood—making him painfully aware of it coursing through Kadaj's veins in clamoring joy. He watched those mostly disintegrated bodies drift to the floor. They never knew what had hit them.

The white flames died down, taking that eerie glow with it, and Kadaj lowered his hand. When he looked at Vincent again it was with the calm assurance of a saint, his soft smile reassuring. He reached out his left hand as he drew closer to Vincent, and gently placed it over the man's thudding heart.

"You let me touch you," he said, his low, soft voice never sweeter than it was right then. He gazed up at Vincent through the thick fringe of his lashes and that smile widened. "You came back for me."

"Why would I not?" Vincent questioned, feeling that materia still unsettled inside Kadaj, still seeking a home. Surges of unnatural power were a rather common side effect of being infused with materia, so he tried to keep Kadaj's display of sheer destruction in perspective. Still, it _had_ very nearly unnerved him to hear that soft, childish voice whispering, '_All of them…all of them…every last one…_'

"Because…you never let anyone touch you," the boy said, shrugging his slim shoulders. Those feline jade eyes found his again, assessing and curios.

"I never claimed such," Vincent smoothly said, stepping back to force that hand to drop. "I merely advised you…"

Kadaj cocked his head and lowly asked, "Do you care for me, Vincent?"

The man said nothing, but the boy only smiled.

He already had his answer.


	14. Chapter 14

It was easier, finally.

Kadaj had found something in returning to his home—he had found the strength to keep going, even if it meant he would be alone. Vincent was proof that even the most aloof creatures still managed to be with others, so Kadaj would never _truly_ be alone. Love wasn't for everyone, it would seem, and life could be lived without someone to hold…It was just lonelier, that was all.

His near death at the hands of the Master had changed them both. Kadaj had made his decision to keep Vincent safe with no regrets, and Vincent had none about implanting that mysterious materia into Kadaj's body. Vincent had, if anything, proven that he hadn't just been teasing Kadaj with the title, 'son.' It was obvious that Vincent felt some kind of attachment with him, however he may try to hide it. Even if that attachment was only through blood.

They'd left the stone fortress after Kadaj raided it, taking new leather gear and boots from the extensive stockpiles as well as leather armor for his shoulders. He didn't replace the _souba's _sheath—Cloud had ordered the one he had, had gotten it just for Kadaj and the boy didn't have the heart to replace it.

Vincent spent that time searching for anything referring to Genesis or Sephiroth, brooding in the Master's library. They didn't need to fear anything but haunts and roving monsters. Kadaj's wave of willpower had demolished every Cenobite that had been in the stone fortress. Such indiscriminate power in his hands would have given Cloud a case of the screaming horrors, but Vincent merely shrugged off Kadaj's worries about handling it, saying that any son of his would have no trouble making the right decisions. His faith did more for the boy than he could ever, ever know…It allowed him to have faith in _himself_.

They traveled the rough, little-seen areas of the world, fighting monsters, keeping to the shadows. In all of that time, Kadaj thought of everything he'd left behind that he'd loved—not just Cloud, though that was the bigger part of him. He missed the way Yazoo's face softened when he smiled, his jade eyes sweeping closed and his pink mouth curving. He missed his brother's laughter, so rare before and now so joyous, brought out by his carefree lover. He missed Reno, manwhore hussy that he was, but he'd been kind when Kadaj most needed it, and he held no grudges. He missed Loz, the big lughead, and felt bad thinking that his older brother might be miserable not knowing what had happened. Poor Loz always tended to get left in the dark.

But mostly, _mostly_, he missed Cloud.

He thought of Cloud's last words to him, so cold and cruel, the set of his face something more mask-like than anything. He thought of when he'd first returned from the Lifestream and how Cloud's eyes had been the first thing he'd seen. How Cloud had removed his glove and held out his hand so that Kadaj's first touch in this world would be his bare skin. Whatever had happened, whatever emotional rollercoaster confusion had prompted Kadaj to escape, he knew that if Cloud hadn't pushed him away, he would've gone home at Reno's insistence. The change between the Cloud who'd tried to keep him from leaving and the Cloud who'd harshly told him not to return was too much for Kadaj to process even now, and it only left him more confused.

"So," Vincent said, making Kadaj look idly at him. He was a striking figure in the moonlight, perched lazily on a rock with his metallic accents flashing and his swirling cloak dancing slowly around him with all of the fondness of a lover. "Will you tell me?"

Kadaj kicked his feet on the pier next to the boulder Vincent was sitting on. He looked back at the midnight ocean and leaned back on his braced hands, tipping his head back as the warm ocean breeze teased his hair.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice low. He could feel Vincent now, the stronger his blood got. There were other changes, too, but he wasn't sure he should mention them. Whatever it had been that Vincent had plunged gently into his body had taken up residence with ease and had melded seamlessly into Kadaj's life. He could feel it like a dim, second heartbeat inside him, pulsing power slumbering but present.

Vincent gazed down at him, crimson eyes taking in the details of his slender form. Kadaj was stretched out on the pier, his long legs kicking in the empty air above the softly rustling ocean, his arms braced behind him and a soft smile on his smooth face. His hair was longer, almost to his shoulders now, giving him even more the appearance of a young female.

"At least you're never _boring_," Vincent said, deciding against the direct approach.

Kadaj laughed.

"How long has it been, Vincent?" he asked, letting his eyes flutter open. They glowed now, exposed to mako as he'd been—even very little of the stagnant stuff had a potent and powerful effect, though it would probably wear off. Vincent _hoped_.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Does it matter?"

"I wonder if he misses me," the boy murmured, lifting his head back up to stare out across the ocean. "It's beautiful here…I wish Cloud could see…"

"He was in Wutai once," was all Vincent said.

Kadaj smiled a little and cocked his head, sighing, "I remember…Death didn't take Sephiroth's memories from me…"

There was a long silence before Vincent asked again, "Will you tell me? Do you trust me yet?"

"Is it safe?"

Vincent shrugged, his own crimson eyes turning up to the full moon.

"Is it ever safe to feel?"

Kadaj laughed at this, sitting up straight and pulling his legs up to rest his chin on his knees. His leather outfit suited him, revealing the curves and dips of his lithe young body, protecting him from the rough terrain they often traversed.

"I left because he told me that he didn't want to see me or speak to me again," Kadaj told him, amazed to find that the pain had died down to a dull throb. It didn't immediately inspire tears anymore, but it still hurt.

Vincent was silent for a long time, and when he answered Kadaj could only stare at him in puzzlement. In his soft, velvety voice he purred, "And you _believed_ him?"


	15. Chapter 15

"How can you share your life with someone and know them so little?" Vincent inquired, his voice low and neutral. "Cloud is, as always, saddling himself with guilt. You know him better than _that_, Kadaj, to believe him when he says such a thing…"

Kadaj frowned, remembering the day, the hurt, Cloud's face…

"He was so cold," he whispered.

"Cloud believes—has _always_ believed—that whatever brings him joy will leave him," Vincent said. "That the thing that hurts him most must be the correct thing to do. He is so lost inside his own misery and pain that he forgets who else he hurts in his quest for absolution…even the people he is atoning for."

Kadaj gave him a hesitant, worried glance, asking softly, "You think he drove me away to punish himself?"

Vincent smirked, sighing a little into the warm breeze.

"What do you think, Kadaj? Think of what he said, and think of the man who loves you—do the two go together?"

Kadaj shook his head, mute.

"Cloud has lost so much," Vincent said. "First his father, and then Sephiroth, Zack, Aeirth…in ways he has lost _everyone_, and so many years of his life just _gone_. When one suffers as much as Cloud has suffered, it begins to feel normal. Happiness is fleeting, people always leave him…perhaps he thought he was sparing the both of you."

The idea of Cloud doing such nearly made Kadaj cry. He wanted to return right that second and search him out, but that nagging, cruel voice bade him wait awhile, wait and see. Cloud had been so cold, so adamant…Kadaj didn't want to endure another rejection…

"I don't know if I'm strong enough, Vincent," Kadaj told him. "I'm not sure I could risk returning to him only to be shunned."

Vincent smiled down at him and said, "At least you admit your weakness."

He stood, flinging his cloak out around him, and headed off.

Kadaj heaved himself up to his feet and trotted after him, his leather bag bouncing against one hip, the _souba_ bouncing against the other.

They left Wutai and traveled back to the main continent in search of more secret Shinra labs that Vincent so methodically rummaged through. Kadaj had found a rut in his thoughts, his own growing guilt starting to gnaw at him as the months flew past.

Had he been unkind to Cloud, then? His temper tantrums and mood swings had always seemed to amuse his brother, but in snatches of rest (which Vincent lengthened, as if sensing Kadaj's efforts) the boy would recall Sephiroth's memories of Cloud. Beneath the tinge of lust for a boy who'd not been anywhere _near_ the age of consent was a love as true and strong as what Kadaj felt for Cloud, and in that love he found an image of Cloud as a fourteen year old boy—tiny and fragile and defensively cocky, beautiful but unaware of it, precious and delicate. Sephiroth had tried so hard to keep the boy from all manner of harm, had protected him even through everything else…Cloud's vulnerability and tears, his confusion and the understandable, child-like way he'd been so innocently excited about the world around him…Gone, all of it gone. Cloud's friends had been snatched from him, his lover, his _family_. He'd spent untold years in a lab, part of his time confined to a mako-pod, and for what? To lose his friend in the end? To be powerless to stop it? To be so shattered that he used his Jenova ability to literally absorb the man Zack's consciousness, adopting his traits, his habits, his phobias and beliefs—all because being the boy he'd been had been too painful, too full of loss.

For the first time Kadaj felt empathy for Cloud, misery over his losses, pain over what he'd endured that had changed him from a child with a sad, hopeful little face to a grown man whose beautiful face was even more sad and held the knowledge that hope was futile. Cloud was a creature who had been crushed and crushed again, dealt nothing but wildcards his entire life. When Fate had dealt so unkindly with him, how _was_ he to accept that love had come to stay?

He didn't doubt anymore that Cloud loved him. Cloud was designed to give, he was made to love others, he simply couldn't help himself. Cloud loved him deeply enough to drive Kadaj away in the desperate attempt to keep the boy from a fate he'd had—an older lover, no chance to see the world, a life spent wondering "what if?" Cloud had driven him away and it had hurt them both but in actuality it was Cloud himself who suffered over their severance. And even if none of it was true, it was close enough to what Kadaj felt in his secret heart that he was determined to sort it out.

It was several more months before all of this solidified in Kadaj, bubbling to the surface of his conscience. They'd been all over the main continent and even up to Round Island and back down to Mideel. There were still so many places yet to see, but while he was standing back on the lip of the Northern Crater, remembering how he'd come in search of Mother, in search of _love_, Kadaj suddenly turned to Vincent, who was standing behind him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I love you, you know," he said, reaching out to grasp Vincent's left hand and pull it out to hold it, claws and all. "You're no monster, Vincent, whatever you may think. You're my father, and I admire you greatly."

That brass-clawed hand clenched his in a convulsive response before relaxing and wrapping delicately around his fingers, squeezing softly before letting him go. Slowly, slowly, that hand approached his face and Kadaj let it touch him without even a flinch, let it settle on the vulnerable column of his throat and press to the pulse of his veins. Those crimson eyes were inscrutable, weighing and judging even now—but Kadaj didn't care. He had what he needed now. He was strong, and Vincent would acknowledge that.

"You let me touch you," the man murmured, and ran his thumb over the bottom of Kadaj's chin, tracing the edge of his jaw.

Kadaj smiled and said, "I never said that you couldn't."

He could sense Vincent's smile and slipped silently to embrace the taller man, wrapping his arms around lean warmth and burying his face in Vincent's chest. That cloak drifted down around him, followed moments later by Vincent's hesitant arms. He hugged Kadaj lightly, and then gave in and squeezed him close with a soft sigh, his chin settling on the top of Kadaj's head.

They stood that way for some time, sharing their loneliness and a mutual feeling of finally having someone who shared blood, who was truly _family_. All of this time Kadaj had searched for a Mother, had made Cloud a perfectly amicable Father substitute—but here he was, hugging his Father at last, and it made tears well in his eyes and soak into Vincent's shirt.

It was with pleased surprise that Kadaj felt one single, warm drop spill down onto his hair from above and trickle to his scalp, mingling with his hair and skin until it became a part of him.


	16. Chapter 16

It took weeks to get back to Edge, and the duo took their time. Kadaj was never in any hurry anymore, suffused with a patience that the endless trials of their trip had instilled in him.

As they neared, his thoughts turned again and again to Cloud. He didn't feel the old hesitance, the old fear that Cloud would reject him. He suspected that Cloud would be happy to see him, he expected for Cloud to be involved with someone else, he hoped that Cloud loved him, and he planned that—whatever the case may be—he would return to their loft whether Cloud wanted it or not. His big brother was truly out of his mind if he thought that Kadaj would give up on him and nothing short of a restraining order or death was going to change Kadaj's mind. Cloud was his to hold and comfort and ease, and that was the end of any discussion.

"Nervous?" Vincent asked, watching Kadaj pace.

They were in an inn outside of Edge and it was late, almost dawn. But the two of them sat up talking quietly together, sometimes sitting in companionable silence, just relieved to have someone near.

Kadaj shifted his position to the bed and leaned back against the skimpy pillows, sighing, "No, shockingly. What's to be nervous about?"

Vincent nodded a little, and moved his hand into his cloak to fish out something.

"This is for you," he said, holding forth a single, black, white-tipped feather. It was as long as his palm, curving gently.

Kadaj reverently took it. He hadn't seen the Master's wing until the end, when he lay slaughtered on the floor with that beautiful, sad wing drooping over his limp body.

"Genesis," Kadaj sighed, remembering the beautiful, red-headed man who had rescued him and his brothers by opening the ballast doors from the outside. _He_ had had a wing, only pure black, long and graceful and powerful enough to bear him aloft with his little passenger. "I won't forget…"

"I will look for him," Vincent said, speaking of his searches, of what he would continue alone once Kadaj was gone.

"Thank you," Kadaj breathed, grateful to the tips of his toes. Good or evil, Genesis was another piece of the past that Kadaj was unwilling to relinquish. Despite what he may or may not have done, despite what the evidence pointed to, he had played a crucial—if brief—part in Kadaj, Yazoo, and Loz's lives. It would be good to know what had happened to him.

"Sleep, Kadaj," Vincent finally urged, and turned to the window to ponder his own thoughts.

Kadaj placed that feather securely through the leather wrappings of the _souba's_ sheath and sank down into that soft, welcoming bed with a sigh.

He was asleep before he even knew he was sleepy.

* * *

They spent the next day making the last leg of their journey into Edge, reaching the newly burgeoning city around midnight.

Kadaj was reluctant to let go of Vincent when he finally hugged him goodbye. He'd come to understand Vincent's terrible loneliness and strange, poetic relief in the ghosts of the past. He'd come to understand Vincent more deeply, perhaps, than he would ever understand his enigmatic lover.

"Please don't forget me," Kadaj asked, finally releasing him.

"You're remarkably memorable, Kadaj," Vincent said, his voice as low and deadpan as it ever was. "I don't believe there was ever a dull moment with you—kidnappings, torture, near-death experiences…I find myself in need of a vacation. Perhaps, Wutai…"

Kadaj gave him a rueful smile and asked, "Are you mad at Reno for sending me?"

Vincent mulled that one over for a moment, thoughtfully crossing his arms and leaning against the nearest building, half expecting Yuffie to pop out of hiding somewhere and accuse him loudly of "draping."

"Surprisingly, no," he finally answered. "Thank him for me, if you would."

Kadaj nodded and gently said, "I'm sorry I had to wait so long to find my father…"

Vincent smirked behind his mantle and replied, "I'm sorry too, Kadaj. In more ways than you can know. You're a young man to make any father proud, and I'm proud of you…_my son_."

He was gone like a ghost, cloak rippling in swirls around him as he leapt from sight in a dramatic farewell. Kadaj sadly, poignantly wondered if things would ever be the same again.

He was home now. He would return to Cloud if he could, but first he had to visit his brother and Yazoo's fox-faced lover and tell them thank you for helping him when he needed it most.

No, things wouldn't be the same, not anymore…

But perhaps it would be best if they weren't.

* * *

_Continued in SINS_: I'm sorry if this is rushed, there's a deployment coming and I'm not sure how it's going to go. So here's what I had, subject to change!


End file.
